


Too Much Time

by elsexton29



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Choices, F/M, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mild Language, Pining, Post Reichenbach, Reunions, Romance, Smut, Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 18,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsexton29/pseuds/elsexton29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/></p>
</div>Post Reichenbach. Sherlock spends all his free time chasing down bad guys to keep his best friend safe. John spends his free time with his new fiancee. What will happen when Sherlock finally returns to find that the friend he was so dearly protecting has moved on?
            </blockquote>





	1. John – 461 Days until the Big Event

In the past year and a half, John has been sad, depressed, lonely, excited, and (he could say it) happy. It had been so long since he had been nervous. Not since seeing Sherlock standing on the edge of that roof. That was the emotion that swirled deep in his gut as he stood looking around at his creation. He tried to push the negative connotations out of his mind. He wasn't nervous when he first met Mary, and she was a sight to behold. A beautiful blonde girl with creamy pale skin and eyes that were brighter than stars. She helped him recover from the depression he spiralled into after Sherlock's death. She saved him from himself. From the suicidal thoughts that occupied his every moment. She deserved to be asked, and he was the only one who could do the asking. He was afraid he would lose her if he didn't do it soon. 

He requested that she come to Baker Street after work. She was employed as a teacher at one of the local primary schools. Every curtain was closed tight. Making it as dark as possible. He had lit candles on every surface he could find. Roses almost seemed to float around the room and fill it with their aroma. He wanted it to be perfect. You didn't ask someone to marry you everyday. This was how it was done, was it not? A large romantic gesture, and there was no possibility that she could say no. He really should have remembered what her favourite flower was. He didn't believe he could do wrong with roses. 

Soon, he heard a key in the lock. Mary was the only one with a spare key to the flat. His pulse raced, and he could feel sweat pooling up under his collar. Why had he wore so many layers? Was the heat really up that high? He fumbled for a moment, not sure if he should be sitting or standing or where it should be at. 

When the door opened he was half standing up. He cleared his throat as he stood up straight. Mary was breath taking as she entered the flat. Her hair twisted up tight on her head, and her pale blue dress that stopped just below her knees. He loved that colour on her. It made her blue eyes shine even more brightly, and her skin look like porcelain. John wondered if she already knew what he was going to ask. If she did would that ruin the moment? 

Her hands flew to her face as she awed at the room. “Oh John. This looks beautiful.” She spun around taking in the whole room before walking up to him. “What is all this for?” 

John could see her searching her brain for any important dates that she might have missed. It wasn't an anniversary of anything. Rather a new date to celebrate. When he began to speak it came out weak at first and grew with more intensity. He took her hands in his. “Mary, you have been the one constant factor in my life right now. You can make me happy when nothing else even could stir me to action. There is no one else alive that I would rather spend the rest of my life with.” John had thought about this part previously. This was where he wanted to get on one knee and propose properly, but his limp was going to make it awkward to get down and back up. His leg had gotten worse again a few weeks after the incident at St. Bart's. He desperately hoped that Mary could understand. “It would be a great privilege to spend the rest of my days with you. Mary, will you do me the privilege of being my wife?”


	2. Sherlock – 432 Days until the Big Event

One would have thought that he would have been bored stiff of hunting down criminals after starting from the bottom of Moriarty's crime ring and killing his way up, but there was no substitute for the thrill of the chase. God many times he had tried, but he was determined to make this his only vice. He was almost there. Almost to the top of the large pile. Almost to Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's first in command. The last in a long line of executions. 

While this was exhilarating, he longed for his old life. His old friends who probably had forgotten about him by now. They would never be safe until every last member was hunted down. Sherlock wouldn't admit that he cared, but he did. Otherwise, he would have never taken that dive off that building. He reminded himself that he had to put his feelings aside if he ever wanted this to be over. To burry them deep inside like he had before the fall. For some reason, it just didn't seem that easy. He missed John. Missed his company. Missed his tea. Missed him. 

Budapest was a vastly large city. Too large for Sherlock to memorize quickly. He could take you anywhere you desired in London, but he was crap at getting around Budapest. It didn't help that John's phone had the GPS, and he couldn't speak Hungarian. French, German, even a little Russian was no problem, but Hungarian was one language that his father never aspired him to learn. There was the occasional English speaker, but never when it was convenient. 

That condemned most of his nights for wandering aimlessly down dark winding streets. He had purchased a map, but that was no fun to match up unpronounceable words with other words that had the same spelling. He attempted to memorize the map, but it wasn't as easy when he didn't speak the language. The city was the seventh largest in Europe. Sherlock begrudgingly attempted to accept the fact that he would be doing this for a long time.


	3. John – 182 Days

Once, John had a bachelor pad. A bachelor pad, and a roommate. Now, John's flat was filled with white, and blushing pink, and pale yellow. He couldn't wait until the whole ordeal was over with. There was one time that he was convinced that there were more wedding magazines in the flat than Sherlock had books. Of course that was impossible, but it certainly appeared in that regard. They took over everything. They were shoved in every space available. John even opened up his sock drawer one morning to find a magazine hidden in there. 

He struggled as he brought tea to Mary, going back for his own, and then sat beside her on the couch. He couldn't carry more than one with his cane. The coffee table had been overrun with mockup ideas for centre pieces. Where had Sherlock's notes gone? He didn't know that when he asked Mary to marry him, it would be this much of an event. He had never experienced a woman that required so much. Harry was quite minimalistic, and she was the closest example of a woman he had in his life until he met Mary. 

She took a sip of her tea and scanned the options once more. “Which do you like best?” She questioned with thoughtfulness in her voice. 

John hated questions like this. He was aware that his opinion really didn't matter, and if he chose the wrong one that he would have to convince her for weeks that he liked her choice better. He shrugged taking another drink. “I like them all. I don't know if I could choose. Which ones do you like best?” He redirected the question back at her. He had gotten quite good at this within the past weeks. 

She pointed to three of them. They seemed almost indistinguishable from one another. “These seem to fit the mood I think we are going for.” 

John nodded. “Those are my favourite, too. We can take some time to narrow it down even more. We still have some time.” 

“Not that much time! It takes a lot to plan a wedding. Some people wait years to get married so they can plan it perfectly.” She explained gathering together the centre pieces.

John glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do you want to wait years? I could if that was what you really wanted.” 

She huffed quietly. “Of course not. It is just stressful.” She looked at him and placed her hand in his. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be crazy about this.” 

John knew better than to agree. “You're not crazy. It is just stress as you said.” He pulled her into him, so that her head rested on his shoulder. His fingers lazily dancing up and down her arm. “You're just excited. I am too.” He kissed the top of her head. 

She breathed for a few moments, and John's gut swarmed with anxiety. He wasn't ready for what she had to ask next. “Speaking of exciting.” She started. “When are we going to move in together?” 

John hesitated. He had been dreading this conversation. 

With no answer she continued to speak. “My flat is much larger, and doesn't contain so many morbid keepsakes.” She remarked as she eyed the skull still poised on the mantle. 

“But what about Sherlock's things? This was his flat, too.” While Mary helped ease the pain John had experienced after his best friend's death, he was not at the point that he could give him up and forget. His nightmares of war had been replaced with Sherlock's death. He would wake up hysterical and drenched in sweat. The image of Sherlock hitting the pavement still fresh in his mind. The only comfort in the middle of the night was being able to be surrounded by his belongings. The smell that clung to his bed or the sight of the knife stabbed into the wood beside the skull. It was like the parents he had heard of that didn't want to change a thing about their child's room after their death. Sherlock was like a child in so many ways. Mary was a wonderful distraction, and he believed he could love her, but she wasn't enough to erase the pain that worsened in the dark. 

“Leave them here. It will be your landlady's problem then.” She suggested as if it was like leaving behind mouldy bread and a half eaten container of jam. 

Mrs. Hudson. Poor Mrs. Hudson. She could hardly bare coming up here. She loved Sherlock like a son. He had saved her from an abusive husband, and kept her safe when no one else cared. Sherlock did. He cared about her, and John knew that she would never move his things. The flat would stay exactly as it was. A shrine to Sherlock's life. Still, it wasn't enough. John wouldn't be here, and John wanted to believe that he was a big part of Sherlock's life. It didn't feel right to leave this place. Alternatively, it didn't feel right to move Mary in either. He didn't even allow her to spend the night. Always had an excuse as to why she had to go home. “I am just not sure that I am prepared to forget about this place, yet.” He commented, laying his heart out in the open. 

John could almost feel her disdain. Even though he couldn't see her face. “It's been over two years, now. Don't you think it is time to move on?” Maybe she was right. Maybe sulking in this place was only extending the grieving process. Maybe he really did need to get out.


	4. Sherlock – 27 Days

Lungs. They burned. Smoke. 

Sherlock dropped to his knees as he struggled to breathe. Chasing down criminal soldier, Sebastian Moran, had its complications. Initially he was involved with the pursuit through many tiny Budapest alleys and under tunnels that didn't look safe even in the daytime. Moran drew him to a quaint house in a battered neighbourhood. 

Sherlock, being Sherlock, anticipated his moves. The house was an ancient one that would only lock and unlock with a key. Sherlock had locked the door to the cellar when the hunt lead down a rickety staircase. The only entrance to the dark dungeon like room. Sherlock knew what Moran had planned to do. He would compel him down into the dark and shuffle back up the steps after he had set the place on fire. A fire he already planned for and would ignite quickly. Moran would escape while Sherlock struggled for breath. Unfortunately he had grabbed the key from the doorframe and locked it behind him. Really? A doorframe key? This man wasn't as smart as Moriarty by a long shot, but he was fast. He never stopped moving. A moving target is much harder to apprehend. 

The room glowed orange beyond the smoke. Nothing was visible as Sherlock crawled searching. He wasn't leaving until Moran was dead. Locking him up was not enough. He would find a way to escape. He needed to die to ensure Lestrade's, Mrs. Hudson's, and John's safety. If Sherlock couldn't find him in time, then they both would die from smoke inhalation. Sherlock didn't care if he died, as long as Moran died along side him. 

It was easy enough to deduce that Moran would immediately return from the top of the stairs and tried hiding. The furthest place from the flames was the staircase, and beneath it was a small space. Sherlock dragged himself over to the space with his gun drawn. “Don't move.” He warned as he spotted eyes looking back at him through the smoke. 

Moran's light hair was covered in dust and his clothes looked as if they were singed by the fire. “You idiot. You'll kill us both.” 

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, triumphantly. “A price well paid to rid the Earth of filth such as yourself.” 

He watched as Moran rocked back on his haunches. He was preparing to strike. Just as his hands left the floor, Sherlock fired three bullets into Moran's head. The dead body toppled on top of Sherlock. He collapsed with a loud moan. Blood was seeping down into Sherlock's clothes. It was warm and sticky against his skin.

The smoke was really starting to take their toll on Sherlock's lungs. His lungs weren't at their total capacity from many years of smoking. He rolled Moran's body off of him and attempted to climb the stairs on hand and knee. The higher he climbed, the less he could breath. He pulled his beloved blue scarf over his mouth and nose to act as a filter. He could feel unconsciousness threatening him and pulling him under its heavy seas as he dug around his pocket for the key.


	5. John – 25 Days

When Mary forced John into a night out with the boys, he doubted that this was what she had in mind. She wanted to convince him to forget about Sherlock Holmes completely. Mary had never met him, and if she had John believed that she wouldn't be able to forget about him either. This attempt at going out with “friends” was pointless. His only remaining friends knew Sherlock, too. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of that day. 

Before his proposal, he was almost able to forget about Sherlock, but there was now a nagging worry in his mind that he was trying to replace him with Mary. This seemed to bring all the memories flooding back. Sherlock's presence always demanded to be acknowledged. Whether he was alive or dead. Sherlock never liked him going out on dates and leaving him behind. He tried chalking it up to pre-wedding jitters. His mind finding any excuse to run. He wasn't going to let the dead interrupt the happiness of his current life. 

The group was small. The only two friends John could think of was Mike and Lestrade. They weren't much entertainment as they sat around a table at a bar and talked. The room reeked of too much air freshener, and televisions flickered on every wall available. The place was almost empty, which lead to the overwhelming feeling of dread given off by the intensely red walls. 

“Finally joining our club, then are you?” Mike asked as he swigged back another beer. 

John swirled his own in his hand. “What?” 

Mike smiled as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Getting married. Finally knowing what it is like to live with a woman. Giving up the crazy bachelor life.” 

“Despite what you used to read in the papers, I never had a crazy bachelor life. Unless you call ordering carry out and watching crap telly a crazy bachelor life.” 

Mike continued talking and pushed his glasses up further on his nose. “You're going to love being married. Always having that other person to talk to, and think about when they are not around.” 

Lestrade laughed. “Are you kidding me. Being married is like receiving a heavy dose of Karma everyday. One day it is beautiful and you don't think it could be any better, and the next you suspect your wife of cheating because you are gone too much and she'll come home after you do. She say she was with the girls, of course. You won't want to find out, so you'll just believe her.” 

“Wow. Way to be encouraging.” John said. 

“I'm not trying to encourage you. I'm trying to convince you to run.” Lestrade took another big swig and his bottle clanged as it hit the table. Things must be on a downward at home. Lestrade was always on some roller-coaster ride with his wife. 

Through the lull in the conversation, John looked up at the television screen just in time to see Moriarty's picture flash up. “Hey turn that up.” John requested of the bartender who fumbled for a remote beneath the bar. 

As the volume rose, John could hear the reporter say “Just yesterday, there was a fire in a small house in Budapest. Many thought nothing of it, until examining the damages and found human remains. The number of bodies is hard to determine at this time from the intensity of the fire, but was discovered that in the cellar was Sebastian Moran. More commonly known as the next in command for the British crime ring lead by the deceased James Moriarty.” His picture flashed on the screen once again. “Is this the last we'll see of the notorious group? One can only hope.” The telly then jumped to a commercial. 

“Did you know about this?” John demanded out of Lestrade. 

He shook his head. “No. Not our division, so they determined we were not privy to that information. Moriarty was never really under our jurisdiction. Too large for Scotland Yard.” 

John exhaled loudly. “Well, I'm glad someone got that son of a bitch.” 

Mike attempted to turn the conversation onto friendlier venues. “So have you figured out the wedding party yet?” 

It took John a moment to switch gears in his mind. “Uh. Yes. Mary has two sisters who she wants as bridesmaids and a little niece to be the flower girl.” 

“And the best man?” Mike urged. 

John wasn't sure where Mike was going with the question, but it was one that he had deemed long ago not to think about. “I'm not sure yet.” He didn't have a best friend anymore.


	6. Sherlock – 20 Days

Sherlock's first thought when he opened his eyes was sterile. White walls, white ceiling, white bed, thin white gown draped on his body. The place carried the stench of disinfectant. A hospital then. There was an iv emerging from his right arm and oxygen nubs in his nose. He could hear his own heart beat echoing in an electrical beep. He didn't want to even think about his bladder right now. The pain was enough of a clue. 

He supposed that he should be happy that he was alive. He remembered barely getting the door open and crawling a few feet before collapsing completely. Someone must have drug him out of there. He had a hypothesis when it was confirmed by his next visitor. 

Mycroft came sauntering in. One of his men then. He suspected being spied on by him. Never much help, but always there to be a clean-up crew. “Hello, baby brother.” He greeted. 

Sherlock pulled the oxygen off and was reaching for the IV and the heart monitor when Mycroft spoke again. 

“I wouldn't unless you want them to come in and give you something to force you back to sleep.” 

Sherlock complied reluctantly, and replaced the oxygen nubs. “I guess I have you to thank for a safe exit.” 

Mycroft took a seat in the only available chair and leaned his black umbrella against the armrest. “That was reckless. Even for you, Sherlock. There isn't always going to be someone looking over your back to check for criminals.” 

“Yes, but he is dead isn't he?” Sherlock retorted. 

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, but you could have been too.” 

Sherlock crossed his arms in pure stubbornness. “Would have been worth it. At least he would have died, and everything would be back to normal.” At least John would be safe.

Mycroft leaned forward in his seat. His forehead seemed to loom over the rest of his body. His red hair a stark contrast between the white walls and his black suit. “Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.” 

He refused to speak. He knew that Mycroft was right. He had been telling himself that for nearly three years. It didn't change the fact that he did care. He cared and he couldn't switch it off. No matter how hard he tried. He didn't think he ever could until he knew for certain. Knew that things couldn't be as he had dreamed. 

His brother sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. “We'll have you flown back home the moment the doctor's give us permission. I imagine that you'll want to host a press conference to tell everyone that you're still alive?” 

“Do I have to? Talking to one person is tedious. Talking to a crowd is unbearable. So many stupid questions. Can't you just write a letter to the papers?” Sherlock suggested already knowing the answer, but wanted to ask nonetheless. He wished for Mycroft to surprise him. 

He didn't. “Seeing is believing. You know that. How else do you expect to obtain cases again?” 

“Lestrade will bring them to me once he knows I'm alive. I'm sure that you have a list of things for me to do once we return to London.” 

Mycroft reached for his mobile and scrolled through it. “You know that won't be enough. They may not want to put too much on you while you're recovering. I expect you'll want to tell John first? He is getting married in less than three weeks, so we could wait until after that.” 

Something in Sherlock felt like it snapped. Literally snapped. Deep in his chest. He attempted to compose himself before Mycroft could notice. He would hypothesize what the snapping could be later. “Married? No. I don't think that I'll bother him. He can find out like everyone else. I'm sure he has forgotten about me.” He responded feeling utterly deflated. 

Why didn't he know about this sooner? Would this have changed his actions? Putting his life in danger? 

No. It wouldn't have changed a thing. This was John. 

John deserved to be safe.


	7. John – 8 Days

“Bye.” John said as he kissed Mary.

She turned to exit the flat and pulled the door closed behind her. She had come over to plan more aspects of the wedding. How could there possibly be anything more to sort out? John couldn't help but think that it had taken over their lives. It was still eight days away. He had time to relax still. He thought so at least. He made the excuse that he had to get up early just to get her out of the flat. 

He barely sat down in his chair before his mobile buzzed on the counter. He contemplated for a moment whether or not to get up and get it. The deciding factor was thinking it really could be the clinic needing him. He needed a distraction. He unlocked it to receive a text from a number he didn't recognize. 

_Don't get married._

He responded quickly. 

_Who is this? JW_

Within seconds he got another response. 

_I can't say. Just don't get married._

_Lestrade? Look my marriage isn't going to be like yours. I'm sorry you have a bad relationship. JW_

_Not Lestrade._

John was starting to get miffed. Who really is messing with him. He repeated his initial question.

_Who is this? JW_

_In your heart, you know._

_What kind of sick prank is this? JW_

When he didn't get a response, he sent another text. 

_This isn't funny. Who is this. JW_

John waited long into the night for a response and it never came. He tried to control his imagination, but it failed him. He couldn't allow himself thoughts like that. Hope was something he gave up years ago.

Sometime around four in the morning, he resolved that he was going to go down and see if he could find any information on Sherlock's computer. It had been a long time since he had tried. Not since he first died had John tried to hack into it. Maybe he had categorized the number away some where on his computer, if he had previous contact with them. Someone had to be messing with him. 

He sat there as it chimed to life. The screen reading 'Sherlock' and a place to put in his password. He hit the hint button, but it read 'If I can't remember a simple password, then I shouldn't be using a computer'. Thanks. Very helpful. These were the passwords he had tried, but did not work: 

_consultingdetective_

_sherlockholmes_

_221b_

_221bbakerstreet_

_andersonisasoddingidiot_

_bowbeforeme_

_stayoffmycomputermycroft_

_holmes_

_january6_

_morgue_

_ridingcrop_

_iamapirate_

_iamgod_

_lestradeneedsanewlacky_

_iamanotter_

_iamanannoyingprick_

_moriartywasreal_

_iannoytheshitoutofmyflatmate_

_smoking_

_nicotinepatches_

_violin_

_myviolinkeepsupthewholeneighbourhood_

John was about to give up. Nothing he tried seemed to work. How do you hack into possibly the smartest man's computer? Maybe he could take it to a specialist. He knew Mary would frown on him obsessing over his dead friend's computer. 

He tried thinking back to what Sherlock had said about any time he broke someone's code. Sentiment. Really sentiment? Sherlock wouldn't be sentimental about anyone would he?  
He tried: 

_ireneadler_

_irene_

_adler_

_thewoman_

Nothing resulted in anything productive. He didn't want to think about the other option. The one everyone always assumed. Sherlock couldn't care about that. John wouldn't allow himself to believe it when he was alive.  
Holding his breath, he entered: 

_johnwatson_

The computer singsonged to the main screen as a tear rolled down John's cheek.


	8. Sherlock – 7 Days

He wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower after the cramped little plane ride, but that would not be possible at his mother's house. She had a big welcome home dinner. A dinner big enough to feed an army even though it would be just himself and Mycroft attending. Everything in this house was too large. Wasteful. Always had been, but it was all he had left. The only remnants of his past life.

He dropped his bags in his old room, and headed straight downstairs. His dress shirt and trousers wouldn't be proper dinner attire for Mycroft, but Sherlock was hoping to get a rise out of him. If he was trapped in this house, at least he was going to have some entertainment. 

His mother was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. She was a tall, thin woman with light blonde hair. She wore a black skirt and fitted jacket. She looked like she did every day of Sherlock's life. “Oh Sherlock.” She reached up to his face. “I'm so glad that you're alright. I didn't like you over in that place.” She was always a nice woman. Sherlock's only refuge for most of his childhood, but she was overbearing. Sherlock had trouble handling that many feelings. She didn't have the limited capacity for emotion that seemed to run in the Holmes's men. When Sherlock had pushed her away, that was when Mycroft tried to step in and become 'Mother'.

He smiled at her in hopes of comforting her. “I'm quite alright, Mother.” He took her arm and looped it through his own. 

They walked into the dinner room. “I'm just glad this whole mess is over with.” 

Mycroft was waiting on them, and rose his eyebrows at the end of their conversation. 

Sherlock helped his mother with her seat, and Mycroft sat at the same time. The food set before them was an abundance at best. Sherlock wouldn't eat a third of it. Maybe he could sneak it onto Mycroft's plate somehow. He would barely notice. He teetered back and forth whether to actually put up with her, or allow his own selfish afflictions to cloud his mood. He opted for making his mother happy. It was the least he could do after she kept his secret. “This looks wonderful.” He complimented. 

She seemed taken aback for a moment. Unused to his kindness. “Thank you. I ordered all your favourites” 

Mycroft interrupted. “The press conference will take place in four days. Make sure that you're ready.” 

Sherlock took a small bite. “What is there to be ready for? Everyone already knew that Moriarty existed after finding his body on the rooftop and my name was cleared. I just have to show up and say I'm alive.” 

“Expect questions about Moran. I doubt you would be in trouble for his death, but they are not going to be nice about it. They'll want to know your motivations for everything.” 

Sherlock shrugged as he pushed food around his plate. “What is so wrong with the truth? I've dealt with press before. I won't let them turn this around on me this time.”


	9. John – 5 Days

Mary wanted to act out her entrance several times so she could be certain that everything would go perfectly. They had just come to check how the decorations were going, but that wasn't enough. She wanted to see them as she would the first time walking down the aisle. John just stood by the front of the church as she walked in and out several times. It just looked like a lot of white to him. 

He became hopeful when she stopped her pacing, until she took out a notepad and started scribbling. John wrapped his arms around her waist and put his chin on her shoulder. “Dear. It is perfect. Don't stress out. Look at it.” He turned her so that she was facing the hall. “It's beautiful. You'll be beautiful, and everything will go wonderfully.” 

She seemed to sigh in surrender. She just nodded. John took the opportunity to lead her out of the building. 

As the sunlight hit his face, his eye caught something off to the left. His heart started racing at the sight. It looked like a tall man with thick black hair, but he had ducked behind a tree.

His mind filled with the texts from the other day. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. 

Dropping his cane, he ran to the tree. He searched behind it, but there was nothing there. Just an empty patch of grass.


	10. Sherlock – 4 Days

His fist pounded against Lestrade's door. He knew he was home. He never worked on Sundays. He wasn't sure how people would react to finding out he was alive, and Lestrade was the first one he was telling. Mostly because Lestrade was a connection to cases, but he also knew Lestrade longer than most people in the city. 

As the door opened, Sherlock backed up. He didn't want to be swung at. 

Lestrade's face just fell as he spotted Sherlock. He then slammed the door back shut. Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. The door inched back open and and eye peered at him from the crack. 

The door opened again. “Bloody Hell. It's really you.” His hand gripped his hair. 

Sherlock took a step forward and spoke in his deep voice. “It is really me.” 

As if that was the final proof that he had needed, Lestrade stepped forward and hugged Sherlock. It felt weird. Sherlock was never on hugging terms with anyone. He knew it was emotions taking control. Lestrade would never rationally want to hug Sherlock. Still, he placed on hand on Lestrade's back. “Come in, come in.” Lestrade motioned to his door. 

He followed him inside. He never had been inside Lestrade's flat before. It was small. Unsurprising for the detective with a cheating wife. She never spent enough time here to dress it up. He sat in a chair opposite of Lestrade at the kitchen table. 

“This is so crazy. I still can't believe you're alive. I think I'm in shock.” 

“Would you like a blanket?” Sherlock joked. It was relieving how Lestrade had seen him as a friend, and how he cared for him. 

Lestrade laughed a little too much. “I think I'm good. How? Why? Just tell me something.” He gasped for information. 

“Faked death. Moriarty threatened to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and John if I didn't jump off the building to kill myself. He turned on himself once I realised that there must be a cease fire signal. After that I had no choice. Of course I orchestrated it with Molly beforehand so I didn't actually die. Then hunted down everyone associated with Moriarty so I could return safely.” He mumbled through, already bored of the story he would have to repeat several times. 

His mouth was hanging half open. “So that Moran. That was you?” He still seemed to not have the full capabilities of his metal capacity. 

Sherlock nodded. “I almost died myself on that one. He was the last in a long line.” 

Something seemed to click in Lestrade's head. “Oh. You've told John haven't you?” 

Sherlock looked away. He didn't want to think about his former best friend. “I don't think he would care one way or the other.” 

Lestrade smacked the table in excitement. “You have to tell him before he sees it in the news. You didn't see how much it tore him apart grieving over you. He deserves better than that.” 

“He seems to have moved on without a problem.” Even as he said it, he could feel his heart ripping in two.


	11. John – 73 hours 21 minutes 5 seconds

The morning that everything really changed was three days before his wedding. He had grabbed his coffee and sat down to watch the morning news in his robe. It started off as any other day. Discussing the weather - dreary. Sports - uninterested. Traffic - didn't matter. 

Then the reporter spoke the headline that made John's blood run cold and spill his coffee all over the floor. “Hometown genius's death proved to be faked.” John leaned closer to the telly to get a better look. It was still the reporter talking from a desk beside her cohost. “In an attempt to save three of his comrades, Sherlock Holmes faked his death and single handedly took down the entire Moriarty crime ring. He is returning to let us know that all is now safe for London.” 

John was shaking by the time the screen flipped over to Sherlock at a news conference. Immediately tears streamed down his face. Sherlock's velvet smooth baritone voice emitted through the speakers. “Moran is in fact the last member. He was taken care of several days later when he died in a fire he set to kill me.” 

A whiny voiced reporter asked next. “Who were your three friends that you risked your life for.” 

Sherlock rocked back and forth on his feet on the television screen. “I think that for their protection that they should remain nameless.” 

A man was the next to speak. “Did you plan for the fire that killed Sebastian Moran?” 

“No. It was a happy coincidence. I almost died in there myself.” 

“Are you worried about legal action being brought against you for acting as a vigilante.” 

“I wasn't a vigilante. I had the support of the British Government the entire journey. I was a consultant with a specialized set of skills.” He nodded and began to walk off the stage as voices shouted incoherent questions at him. 

It felt like inside of him had been emptied out again. It was like it was when he first died. Why did he still morn the man he just seen? He morned his old life. Sherlock was no longer apart of that and it made it worse than if he had died. 

John clutched himself as he heaved large sobs into the couch.


	12. Sherlock – 72 hours 46 minutes 27 seconds

Mycroft and Lestrade were waiting for him off screen. Mycroft had to be involved, but Lestrade wanted to show that Sherlock had the support of Scotland Yard. While he couldn't say that directly, he could let people draw their own conclusions. The three of them wound themselves through throngs of people and climbed into the back of Mycroft's car. 

“Very well done.” Lestrade complimented.

Sherlock just nodded in acknowledgement. He didn't hold any truthfulness in compliments. People uttered untruths so easily.

“You could have been a little more polite. It is the public that will decide your image.” There it was. The truth. From Mycroft. Mycroft was never short of suppling the truth. 

“I could care less what the public thinks of me. They haven't exactly been my loyal supporters in the past. They should grovel at my feet for what I did for them.” 

Mycroft scoffed. “Leave it to you to make yourself out to be a god.” 

“Says the queen.”


	13. John – 46 hours 39 minutes 12 seconds

24 hours. It was nearly twenty-four hours since hearing of Sherlock's survival, and not one word from him. Is this what John deserved? To live in unnecessary grief for several months, and when the dead returned to be discarded like some undesirable. He didn't/couldn't believe he glorified their relationship after Sherlock's death. He was his best friend. Sherlock said. 

Three years. Three years of missing him and not a single hello.

John thought back to the texts he received a few days ago and tried to push the thought of his mind. Sherlock wouldn't care if he got married. He didn't even care enough to come and tell him that he was alive. 

John paced around the flat angrily. He had kept all of Sherlock's belongings and grieved for him . He didn't deserve this. He deserved something. Three years was far too long, and another second felt like an eternity. John grabbed his coat and headed out with single-minded determination. Forgetting his cane entirely.


	14. Sherlock – 45 hours 26 minutes 55 seconds

Boring. Bromidic. Commonplace. Dead. Drab. Insipid. Interminable. Monotonous. Mundane. Routine. Stale. Stodgy. Stuffy. Stupid. Tedious. Unexciting. Vapid. Zero.

He watched as the ceiling fan went around and around and around until his brain felt like it had melted. There was nothing to do at his parents' house. Television was commonplace. He couldn't bare another conversation with Mummy or Mycroft. God, he wanted to go back to his old life more than anything.

His mother's voice drifted up the stairs. “Sherlock! You have a visitor.” 

Great some other form to be bored in. It was probably Molly. He hadn't seen her since his return, but he wasn't blind to her affections for him. He should at least give her a thank you for helping out with his faked suicide. “Who is it?” He asked as he reached the bottom of the staircase. 

“I'm not sure. They wanted to wait outside.” His mother responded. 

“That's odd.” Sherlock commented and headed towards the door. Maybe it was something interesting. But who knew where he was staying? No client could find him here unless Mycroft sent them. 

On the other side of the door was the only person in the world who could surprise him. John. 

John. 

John. 

His brain didn't make a coherent thought. John rocked back on his feet and pushed through with his fist making contact with Sherlock's cheekbone. Sherlock fell back into the doorway. A pain branching out from his cheek and engulfing his face. His back taking the blunt of the fall. He opened his eyes to see John walking away. 

His mother rushed over to him. “Oh my goodness.” She bent over him examining the damage. “I'll call the police.” 

Sherlock caught her arm. “Don't. I deserved it.”


	15. John – 44 hours 22 minutes 28 seconds

He barely stepped through his front door before his mobile started buzzing with determined ferocity. It was the same number that texted him before. 

_I'm sorry, John._

It almost enough for him to break his phone against the wall. 

_I fucking knew it was you. JW_

_John, please. I'm sorry. SH_

He sat down in his chair. He could barely contain himself. 

_What makes you think that I want your apology? JW_

_You came all the way over here because you thought you didn't deserved an apology? SH_

_You're the fucking genius aren't you? JW_

_I thought you moved on, and didn't care. SH_

_I grieved for you. For months and months, Sherlock. I can't tell you how many times I cried over you and you think I have moved on? Do you not know me at all? JW_

_You're getting married, John. SH_

_And??? JW_

_Don't get married. SH_


	16. Sherlock – 44 hours 18 minutes 15 seconds

He took off after John not long after he left. He couldn't have this conversation all through texts. He felt sick to his stomach as he sat in the back of the cab. He imagined he had ruined any possibility of normal. He was going to do everything he could to get it back. He didn't want to live without John if he didn't have to. 

_Why the hell not? JW_

_You know why not. SH_

_No I do not. JW_

_Yes you do. SH_

_No, say it. JW_

_Not like this. I'm not telling you like this. SH_

The cab rocked and swayed with movements of the streets. The smell something Sherlock didn't want to deduce. He stepped out of the cab and threw money up to the driver. His breath caught as he stood at the door to 221. 

_Then how? JW_

_Please open the door. SH_

It took approximately one minute and thirty five seconds for the door to open. Sherlock almost collapsed into John's arms. He held him tight. Every ounce of his pain he had pent up for three years making it unable for him to move. John was mad and his body rigid against Sherlock's. John needed his time to be mad. “Just a minute. I'll let go in minute.” He whispered in John's ear not sure he could ever let go. 

Sherlock regained himself, and stood up straight. If John was going to punch him again, he deserved it. Surprisingly he just turned and walked upstairs. Sherlock followed him up to their old flat. He almost visibly flinched when he entered the apartment. It looked exactly how it was when he left except was a pile of hastily thrown white frilly things in the corner. He could tell that pile wasn't just made. It had settled. At least sometime last night. Possibly when John got upset. It didn't look as if it was gently stacked. John had stopped walking and stood facing the fireplace. “John, I really am sorry.” Sherlock apologized. “You have to know it was to protect Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, but mostly you. You're my only real friend. I couldn't see you get shot because of me.” 

John's shoulders tensed. “Why couldn't you have told me. I know that you were aware that it was going to happen. Why couldn't you let me save you. I've saved you before.” 

Sherlock waited for him to turn around, and when he wouldn't he spoke. “It was too risky. It was either the three of you or me. This way everyone lives. Isn't that the better option?” 

“You don't understand what it was like. To watch you dive off that building and hit the pavement. I knew it wasn't suicide when they found Moriarty's body. Why would you commit suicide when your enemy had just died. You wouldn't have. You don't question yourself. I've always believed in you. So it had to be something else. It would have been one thing to tried and failed to save you. I knew I would have done my best and that there was no other choice, but you didn't give me the chance. I just had to accept that there was nothing I could have done. Call that a need for control or whatever. You're not affected by emotion like the rest of us. You wouldn't understand.” 

Sherlock chuckled. “God. You have no idea. I grieved for my old life every day. I had no one there that I knew. No one to comfort me. I was in hell without you. I am more affected by emotion than anyone could ever dream.”


	17. John – 43 hours 57 minutes 0 seconds

“What?” John questioned as he spun around. Did he hear what he just thought he heard? Sherlock confessing he cared and was aware of it. John knew it, but it was a surprise to hear he knew it.

Sherlock took a step forward cautiously. He was still wearing that stupid coat and it made John panic for a second that he was going to leave again. “Don't get married.” He mumbled. 

The worst part was that John found himself debating it. Considering giving up his life he had created with Mary. He didn't want to hurt her, and she didn't deserve that. “Why?” 

Sherlock's cheeks flushed red. Did he just blush? He thought his eyes had to be playing tricks on him. Sherlock didn't react in normal ways. “You are really going to make me say it, aren't you?”

Up close he could see the toll that the three years had taken on him. His hair had been cut short. Not as short as John's, but too short for Sherlock. It wasn't right. His face did not have quite the youthful appearance he had before. His mouth seemed more accustomed to frowning with the easy way it settled into the expression. His favourite coat seemed worn out in places. Like it had seen so much without John. Lived a whole life without him.

John crossed his arms over his chest to steady his balance. “I can tell you that I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Sherlock looked down at the ground. “Yes you do, and I don't want to lose you.”


	18. Sherlock – 43 hours 28 minutes 29 seconds

“And you'll lose me if I get married? She is a lovely girl. More than most men could ask for. Why would I give that up so that you won't be alone? It isn't like you let me have any inclination for the past three years that you were alive. Even when everything was safe, you didn't come to me. You waited until I was surprised by it on the telly. Thank god I was in the flat and not hearing it on the street. I would have gotten very strange looks if people saw me breaking down out there. You should be used to being alone by now.” John's voice boomed and echoed in his ears. His arms flailed indicating the windows and beyond. 

He was right. Of course he was right. About everything. “I thought you had moved on. That you didn't care any longer.” 

“You've said that already.” John motioned around the room. “Apparently not! I am getting married. In less than two days, and I'm still living here! I couldn't give up the one place that felt like home. It was home because I shared it with you. I've seen hundreds of men die. Good people. Good friends. Still I couldn't completely get over your death.” He paused for a moment to collect himself. “The least you could do is tell me why you are asking me to not marry Mary. If I don't marry her, I will lose her.” 

Sherlock. The brain. The computer. Sherlock couldn't find the words to say what he desired. John stared at him miffed, and his brain couldn't connect to the muscles in his mouth. Sherlock, the man who liked to contradict everyone for enjoyment, never contradicted this. Acted as if he was above it, but that wasn't the reason he never disputed the claims. The real reason was initially easy enough to ignore, but then it seemed like he couldn't do anything but feel it. The overwhelming sensation that turned his chest into a ball of lead. Too hot and heavy for his body.

“Out with it.” John demanded. Fumes almost visibly coming off him. 

Sherlock didn't think. Couldn't think. Just do. Think and it would be impossible.

He took the two steps to close the distance between them. Motions that seemed too fluid to be his own. Unhindered by concerns that were shouting in his head. His hand gripped the back of John's neck and turned so he was facing up to Sherlock. His lips moved closer and finally pressed against John's. Tentatively at first, but then with more need. His heart pounding away at ears and his legs felt as if they might cave in on him. Sherlock's brain. The logical centre of his entire being felt like it was on a high unmatched by any previous experiments with recreational substances. Colours bursting and drums pounding. Life standing still, but yet as vivid as it had never been. He had to remind himself to breathe.


	19. John – 42 hours 47 minutes 55 seconds

John would have denied it forever. Should have denied it forever, but the truth is he was never really sure about his own feelings until that moment. Never tried to dwell on the thought that rattled in his head at inappropriate times. First Sherlock was his flatmate, then his friend, then dead. Whatever he had urges to do, it was just because they lived in such close quarters. At least, that was what John had lead himself to believe all this time. Denied others and denied himself the thoughts. Subconsciously embarrassed to feel for the man who wouldn't ever feel for him. 

He gave into his desire. His need for Sherlock. The denied part of him awakening and becoming whole. The feeling too overwhelming to fight. The urges he fought those years ago when they used to share the same space. Sherlock began to pull away, and John drew him closer. His arms wrapping around his long torso. It was a force he couldn't escape. A thought he rarely allowed himself to think. 

Panic set in and John pushed against Sherlock's chest. His arms forcing himself away because his lips didn't have the will to separate. “I can't do this?” He wanted to come out as a statement. A scream, but could only be uttered as a questioning whisper. “I'm getting married. I have a fiancee.” He began pacing. “This is you. You don't have emotion. You don't feel things like this. I've always known you have had an ability to care, but not this. This is too deep. Too messy. You don't like messy relationships. They are disgusting.” 

Sherlock tried to reach out for him, but John shrugged him off and continued pacing. 

“You'll grow bored. You won't want to be with me. I'll give you my heart, and you won't care. Mary doesn't deserve to be treated this way. She can't be left before her wedding.” 

Sherlock spoke calmly. His voice doing stuff to John's chest he didn't want to admit. “Does Mary have your heart? Your whole heart.” 

John ruffled his hair, bluffing. No weakness. A primitive part of him still feared rejection. “Yes.” 

Sherlock nodded. His face drawn into a blank expression, but it was obvious that it was forced. “Alright. I'll go then.” 

John grabbed Sherlock's arm, holding him tightly in place. “Don't you dare to fucking leave me now.”


	20. Sherlock – 41 hours 36 minutes 2 seconds

He finally convinced John to sit down, but he had a death grip on Sherlock's sleeve. He seemed lost in his head while Sherlock defended himself. “I'm never going to get bored, and I do have emotions. I do feel this. When I was in a place with nothing I could recognize, face, word, or otherwise; I could only think of how I was doing this for you. Making it safe for you, even if you never wanted to see me again. I gave up my entire life to save you. John, you must know I died for you.” 

John looked up at Sherlock in desperation. “I love both of you.” 

Sherlock knew the statement was one of confusion for John. One of decisions, but his brain would only focus on John saying he loved him. He tried to speak calmly as he said. “I love you, too.” God. He loved him from the first moment he met him. He no longer had to suppress it. No longer had to distract his mind with other things. He could feel it growing now. Deep in his chest. Blossoming to life. 

John wrapped arms around Sherlock's waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. “God. I never thought I would see you again. We buried your body. There was so much regret. Words I never said when I should have never held my tongue. Things I never should have held back.” 

Sherlock did his best to comfort him. He wasn't good at this because it wasn't a skill he was allowed to practice. He just did what felt right to him, and hoped it wasn't too strange to John. He wrapped an arm around John and moved his hand up and down his back. His chin rested against John's hair. “Tell me now. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not running.” 

John sobbed into his shoulder. “I can't. I'm getting married now. Too much time has past Sherlock. It's too late.” 

His arms clutched tightly around John. He didn't want to give him up. He pressed his lips against his hair as he spoke. “Please. Just give me this one night. John, I'm begging you. Don't hold back from me for one night.” 

In response, John tilted his head up and pressed his lips softly against Sherlock's. “One night.”


	21. John – 41 hours 2 minutes 57 seconds

One night. 

One night to be with Sherlock. 

One night to have everything that he could never have again.

He was aware he couldn't stay. He was a loyal person. He couldn't, no wouldn't, leave Mary. She didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't be punished. Sherlock had his chance. Had five years of chances, and he never said a thing. It was too late. John didn't want to be discarded like soiled clothing once Sherlock grew bored. Mary had made him happy. She should still be able to.

He pushed the thoughts of his fiancee to the back of his mind, and focused on the feeling of Sherlock in his arms. He desired to be closer. He laid back against the armrest, and pulled Sherlock between his legs until his head rested on John's chest. His nerves standing on end as he moved. Sherlock promised not to run away from him, but he still worried one wrong move and he would never see him again. He pushed Sherlock's coat off his arms revealing his purple dress shirt. It was awkward, but anything with Sherlock was going to be awkward. At first he was all angles, and took a moment to figure it out without John wincing from an elbow in his stomach. Eventually he laid his cheek along John's chest and his arms wrapped around him. John's fingers played with Sherlock's short dark curls. “Are you happy?” John asked quietly and cautiously. He needed to know what Sherlock was thinking. They couldn't afford to misjudge the situation. 

Sherlock looked up at him. A rare pained expression clouded his eyes. “In the moment,” he stumbled. “I couldn't be happier.” John could tell Sherlock had gotten even skinnier since he had 'died.' He cursed himself for not being able to be there to make him take care of himself, then cursed Sherlock for pushing him away these three years.

John took to tracing a finger along Sherlock's face. His eyes closed as John touched lightly along his cheek. The cheek he had hit. The one that had been busted open and was bruising. A wave of guilt rushed over him and he stretched forward to kiss it. Sherlock looked up at him with those mesmerizing grey eyes exploring John's face. “What's wrong?” John asked. 

Vulnerability painted across his features. “Just something Mycroft mentioned. He said caring is not an advantage. I used to believe so, too. It isn't conductive to proper thinking. A distraction.” John's stomach started to lurch up into his chest. “I would give it all up. All of it. Cases. Work. Everything. To have this. He always knew that it was going to end up with me being completely swoon over you, and I think part of him wanted to save me from it. Even if it incapacitates me and I end up with a broken heart, tonight will be worth it.” 

John suddenly felt very sick. He never thought of Sherlock's feelings in this. He thought of them in regards to himself, but not how this was going to affect him. He worried about Mary's feelings, and his own. He never once thought of how Sherlock would be after this. Part of him supposed he would go back to the way he was. Just turn off his feelings. Delete the part of himself that cared for John. He didn't imagine this tearing him apart so much that he could no longer work. It was now a game of who could he stand to hurt more. 

Sherlock's voice disrupted him from his thoughts. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?” 

His fingers ran up John's bicep. “Play that game. Don't pick us based on whose pain is more bearable. Tonight is about experience. Figuring out who you want to be with more. You've spent plenty nights with Mary, I imagine. Well, I really don't want to actually, but you know what I mean. This is exploring your feelings with me, and what they feel like. Making an educated decision based on your personal desires and not the pain of others.” He was surprised at Sherlock's unexpected possessiveness. Although, he should have seen that coming with the sheer number of dates the man had ruined out of selfishness. 

John nodded as he mumbled. “I'm so exhausted. I didn't sleep last night.” His eyes had grown heavy as he laid back against the couch, and the weight on top of him was most welcome. If he was honest, the shock of the situation was too much. He needed a few hours to shut down and regroup. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Sherlock offered. 

John nodded again and closed his eyes. 

He could feel Sherlock lifting himself off of him, but he pulled him back down. “Stay. Here. Please.” 

He felt a soft kiss as Sherlock whispered. “Not going anywhere.”


	22. Sherlock – 33 hours 10 minutes 17 seconds

He hadn't planned on falling asleep. He wanted to stay up and watch John. He was woken up by a vibration on the right side of his stomach. Everything about the experience was startling. The room was dark and in the drowsiness of sleep he forgot where he was. It had been such a long time since waking up in the flat. “John.” He whispered, shaking him slightly. 

John flinched and, at first, Sherlock was afraid he was going to be decked again. He wasn't. John reached out for Sherlock and wrapped arms around him tightly, still half asleep in a daze. 

Sherlock kissed his cheek and whispered again. “John.” 

“Hmm?” He questioned and buried his face into Sherlock's hair. 

“John. Your mobile is ringing.” Sherlock tried pulling it out of his pocket before it hung up. He pushed the answer button, seeing it was Mary, and held it up to John's ear. Not an action he ever did for someone before, but one that John had done for him countless times. 

“Hello.” he mumbled gruffly holding the phone up himself. She couldn't be so thick that she didn't know she woke him up. Sherlock's finger made small circles on John's chest. It was such a simple motion, but every fibre in this body revelled in the feeling of muscle beneath his hand. “No, it's okay.” he paused again to let her speak. Sherlock couldn't hear. “Yeah. I know. It is quite miraculous. . . Yes he stopped by. . . He actually fell asleep in his old bed. . . Yeah we stayed up late talking. . . I will talk to him about that in the morning. . . Alright, see you then.” John seemed to stare a hole right through Sherlock. “Yeah. Love you too. Bye.” 

Sherlock didn't like hearing it, but he didn't have any false notions. He didn't like picturing them together, but they were. They were together. It was good to be reminded of that. 

“Sorry.” John apologized. 

Sherlock just shrugged. “I suppose she saw me on the news?” 

He nodded. “Well, heard about it from one of her girlfriends. She called to make sure that I knew about it.” 

“What did she want you to talk to me about?” Not that he couldn't guess. It was obvious. 

“Meeting her. She says she would love to meet you.” Bingo. 

He shrugged. “I'll think about it.” He tried to glance at his mobile. “What time is it?” 

John flipped the backlight on. “One-twenty. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sleep our night away.” 

Sherlock sat up on his knees. “We still have plenty of night left. The sun doesn't come up until seven. That is six hours that you are not allowed to think of anything else.” He held out his hand to John. 

John took it and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He guided Sherlock's mouth to his own. The kiss started sweet and soft, but then Sherlock felt John's tongue against his bottom lip. It was requesting entrance. He parted his lips slightly as John's tongue danced into his mouth. Tasting him. He wasn't sure what John would taste like but, once he knew, it made perfect sense. It was John. Unadulterated John. Tea and biscuits and toothpaste. 

He smiled up at his best friend. “I'm getting a little hungry. Want to get some food?” 

Sherlock thought it over. “Take Away?” He couldn't bare acting casual together in public. Not tonight.

“Only if you'll eat too.” 

Sherlock laughed. “You've twisted my arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) . She does wonderful work as an amazing beta.


	23. John – 32 hours 12 minutes 43 seconds

The pair acquired take away from the Chinese restaurant down the street. The one that Sherlock had shown John when they first moved in together. When they returned, they settled on the floor and surrounded themselves with the boxes. They looked like giants among white tents of an army camp.

John pushed his chopsticks at Sherlock. “Try this one.”

Sherlock's silver-grey eyes watched John as he leaned forward and took the bite. He wasn't gong to lie. It had an effect on him that was very pleasant. A shot right to his lower stomach. He shouldn't be affected like that but he was. “That is good. Gong Bao Chicken?” 

John nodded and held up another bite. 

Sherlock took it without prompting. “You know, I wouldn't mind eating if you were feeding me. Makes the process less of an inconvenience.” 

He knew he had meant it to be flirtatious, but John panicked about Sherlock not eating once he got married. 

Sherlock anticipated his thoughts and kissed him on the cheek. Was he really that easy to read? “You know what I mean. Don't worry.” Sherlock held his own up for John to try. 

His was much sweeter and didn't contain as much spice, but still very good. Sherlock always had an affliction for sweet. They ordered from there so often they had tried almost everything on the menu. John picked a random container and held up another bite for Sherlock. Anything to get him to eat. Sherlock's diminishing size had alarmed him. 

An added bonus was that John liked the way Sherlock's eyes watched him while taking the sticks into his mouth. His subtly-pink lips closing around them and pulling back slowly. John suspected it was on purpose but he didn't mind. The images his mind had created were well worth it. 

He attempted to push the feelings of guilt to the back of his mind. This was his one night. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about Mary. It was Sherlock's night. He wouldn't ruin it for him. He wouldn't allow this emotion to cloud what was left of their evening.

Sherlock picked up a spring roll of his own accord and took a bite. John just watched with an open mouth. Sherlock chuckled and held the spring roll out for John to take a bite. He did. “You told me that I had to eat. I made you a deal and I'm not going back on it. You're adorable when you're looking at me in disbelief.” 

John turned away to hide the blush rushing to his cheeks. He could feel it making its way up and making his face hot. He wasn't adorable. Not to Sherlock. Not before. It seemed like a silly thing to be excited about after the man already told him that he loved him. 

“Are you going to help me, or am I eating this all myself?” Sherlock joked. 

John took a bite obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to the wonderful beta [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) .


	24. Sherlock – 31 hours 52 minutes 6 seconds

After dinner, they had taken to watching a science program on the couch. John's head was on Sherlock's lap as he ran his fingers through his hair. The short strands felt silky against his skin. His other hand rested on John's side. The domesticity of it was endearing rather than revolting. Sherlock hadn't expected that.

“That feels nice.” John mumbled while staring at the television. 

Sherlock paused. Not sure what he was doing that was particularly good. He desperately wished he was better at gestures. He wanted to comfort John. “What does?” 

“Your fingers. It is nice to have someone who does that.” John's face still pointed towards the telly.

He resumed his actions. “Doesn't Mary touch you like this?” He couldn't help himself but to ask. 

He could feel John tense under his touch. “I have never had a girl who wants to touch me like that. They all want to be waited on themselves. I am the man and I am to hold them. I am to play with their hair. I am to want to touch their skin. It is so one sided. Society paints this picture like men don't need the same attention. Not that I don't enjoy the touching of them, but does it always have to be one way?” 

“Do you think all women are like that?” Sherlock questioned, actually curious. He thought back to his mother, his only reference to anything to do with a woman, remembering her comforting. All of her, waiting on the boys hand and foot. 

“Everyone can't be that way. Just the ones that I've met are. It doesn't help that my scar disgusts them. They act like it doesn't, but they stare. They try not to make it obvious, but it is.” 

Sherlock felt sympathetic towards John. Even though he had someone in his life to touch and kiss and be happy with, and Sherlock had absolutely no one, he still felt sorry for him. Sherlock had John, and it was only going to last one night. Five hours left, his mental countdown clicked. “Can I see it?” 

John looked up at him questioningly, but then shrugged and pulled his jumper over his head. His fingers worked each button of his shirt open quickly.

Sherlock watched as John's chest was revealed. Lightly tanned skin pulled over large muscles. Not as defined as he probably was in the army, but the traces were still evident. His eyes darted to the scar on John's shoulder. It was beautiful in the way the flesh had twisted and healed in radiating lines. Each thinning as it moved from the epicentre. It resembled light emitting from a distant star. John's eyes widened as Sherlock leaned down to kiss along each tendril. He ended with a kiss lightly on John's lips. “You're never disgusting.” It seemed so obvious, but also felt as if it needed to be said. For John to be reminded.

John reached up to touch Sherlock's cheek as he remained perched over him. “Why couldn't I have said all this to you before? Before everything happened.” His eyes portrayed loss and desperation deep within their blue depths.

Sherlock turned his face into John's hand. “That was just not the way things were supposed to go. It would have never worked before.” He closed his eyes. He didn't want John to see his pain as he uttered “Even now, it won't have the chance to work. Things between us will always be left unsaid.”

“Don't talk like that. There is always a chance.” 

Sherlock pressed his lips against the palm of John's hand. “Don't give me false hope, John. We both know how this is going to play out.” 

John sat up and pushed his forehead against Sherlock's. “I would never do that to you.” Sherlock kissed him deeply. Desperately. Exhibiting all the pent up desire and sexual frustration in the name of Jonathan Hamish Watson. 

John rested his nose against Sherlock's as he breathed heavily. “God you're making it so hard.”

Sherlock glanced down at John's trousers. Nothing noticeable. 

He chuckled. “Not that. Well, maybe but I meant choosing to be loyal. To follow my commitments. To choose the socially accepted path.” 

Sherlock traced his nose down along John's collarbone and nibbled lightly. “What do you want? Who do you want? Not who do you feel obligated to. You also made a commitment to me to be my roommate.” 

John's head fell back and a small moan escaped his lips. “That is not fair. How could of I think of anything else while you’re doing that. No marks.” He warned.

Sherlock pulled back. Oh how he desired to mark John. Make him his own. “Normally I wouldn't play fair, but I don't want you to resent me later on.” Sherlock took a deep breath to compose himself. “What do you want to do now?” 

“Not sleep.” John straddled Sherlock's lap and pressed kisses along his cheekbones. “God. Living under the same roof as you for two years and never did I once get to do this? Why now?” 

Sherlock shrugged. “Something inside me broke at St. Bart's. The floodgates just opened when I looked down at you from the rooftop. I knew what I was going to put you through, and I couldn't lock up the feelings any more. Once the door was opened, I couldn't get it closed. No matter how hard I tried. I cried for the first time since I was a child. Your words brought me to tears.” Sherlock's hands glided up John's bare sides. “You opened the gate to my feelings and they're yours to do with as you wish.” 

John watched his face as he spoke. “Is it true? What Moriarty calls you?” 

Sherlock's brain searched his files. “The virgin? Ah.” He tried to look down to hide his face, but John pulled it back up. 

He shook his head. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Technically. Yes. A messy university relationship left me with the impression that relationships were pointless bodily desires that leave neither party with an advantage.” 

John pressed his lips onto Sherlock's neck and began sucking eagerly. “And now?” He asked playfully. 

Sherlock's skin seemed to dance. His pulse quickened. He wanted John to leave a mark on him. A reminder that he was all his. He always was. If he continued the way he was then he was well on his way. “Don't stop.” 

John chuckled. “I think I know how I would like to spend our last few hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite love to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) who works true magic.
> 
> Also, the next update will cause a rise in the rating. If you are opposed to adult content, then skip the next update. The story should be fairly easy to understand without it. I will post a reminder at the beginning.


	25. John – 29 hours 6 minutes 6 seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains adult content. Skipping this chapter will not impair your ability to understand the story.

He stood and pulled Sherlock after him. “Your room or mine?” 

Sherlock smiled widely. Not one of his fake smiles used to extract information. An honest, rare smile. The kind you wished would never end. “My room? I wasn't aware I still lived here.” 

John's face couldn't help but mimic Sherlock's smile. He squeezed his hand. “You never stopped living here.” John wasn't aware how true the words were until he uttered them. Sherlock had never left this place. All these years, he was still right here. 

He seemed to be processing. “Mine. I don't want to be in the same place you and Mary have. Unless you guys have gone in there too.” 

“God no.” John replied horrified at the idea. The two worlds never were to mix. His life with Sherlock and his life with Mary seemed to belong to two separate people. 

John pressed Sherlock against the door after shutting it loudly. The buttons of his purple shirt screaming for relief. He pulled each loose and slid the silk shirt from Sherlock's shoulders. It caught momentarily on his trousers before gliding to the ground. His wide chest was skinny but it was laced with tight muscles. He looked stronger than he had before he left. Probably from running the streets of god-knows-where. His eyes scanned the expanse of pale flesh appreciatively. His fingers gliding through the scarce dusting of hair on his chest. He needed to touch. Wanted to memorize every feature of this celestial creature. If this was the only night he had, he was never going to forget it. 

Unable to resist any longer, John's lips pursed around Sherlock's nipple and sucked lightly. The moan he elicited from Sherlock's throat was almost inhuman and he loved it. His lips tightened, as he tested Sherlock's reactions, his back arching, desperately. The discovery that Sherlock's nipples were extremely sensitive was an exciting one. His body quivered under John's mouth. He switched nipples and kicked his shoes off. Sherlock's hands were in his hair as his hands slid down Sherlock's stomach to his crotch. He could feel his cock hardening through his trousers. “Is this okay?” John questioned, breathlessly. 

Sherlock nodded,but John could feel him shaking. 

John held him tightly. “Relax. We won't do anything that you're not ready for.” 

Sherlock leaned against him heavily. “I just don't want this to be the only time. My first and last. Does that sound pathetic?” The words tumbled from his lips in a faint whisper. A moment of self-doubt for anyone else seemed plausible but for Sherlock it was shocking. The man never doubted himself.

John kissed his cheek and nuzzled with his nose. “I promise you. This will not be the last time. Not the last time for you and not the last time for us. It can't be.” John could feel it in each of his bones. He needed this. He didn't want to go without Sherlock any more. Even if he had to keep a secret from Mary, it would be worth it. He needed Sherlock in his life. He spun him around until the backs of his legs were against the duvet. “Bed.” He breathed. 

Sherlock kicked off his shoes, laid back, and John climbed over him. His head was spinning. This was Sherlock. The man who had come back from the dead. A man he had loved ever since he met but never allowed himself to admit it. In that moment, he wanted nothing else in this world. His finger fumbled Sherlock's zip on his trousers and he quickly pulled them off, removing his socks in the same fluid motion. It was evident that Sherlock's cock was straining against his pants. John pressed his nose against the erection. Tracing a light line along the entire length. He looked up for permission. Sherlock nodded. John pulled down his pants eagerly and it sprang from its confinements. He took it in his hand, admiring it for a moment, and his tongue swirled around the head. 

Immediately, Sherlock tensed up and closed his eyes tightly. John hovered over him and kissed him lightly. “Relax. It's okay. Look at me. Don't hide yourself. Watch my face. I want to see your every reaction.” He paused and touched his nose against Sherlock's. “I want to know what feels good. Don't over think it.” That seemed like an impossible task. Sherlock would always think too much. John wanted to take that big brain offline for a little while. 

John returned to his position between Sherlock's legs. He held Sherlock's penis and watched his face. His tongue licked up the shaft and Sherlock tensed some but didn't look away. His features read as plain as day. Clouded with expectation and pleasure. He could feel him pulsating in his hand. John repeated the process but moved slower. He took the time to taste him. The bitterness of pre-come assaulting his taste buds. He took him in his mouth and began sucking lightly as he moved his head up and down. The firm hot flesh filling his mouth. John loved every moment of it. Sherlock moaned loudly and almost shut his eyes but they snapped back open to look at John. He moved faster as Sherlock seemed less and less able to contain the groans in his chest. 

John quickly pulled his own trousers and his pants off. He glided over him, holding both of their cocks in one hand. John rocked back and forth against him, and the feeling almost caused him to come unglued. The pleasure in that simple touch. It was different to being with anyone he had previously encountered. It wasn't about just getting off. He held himself together with every fibre of his being. He never wanted this to end. “Do you have a condom?” John breathed against Sherlock's cheek. 

“Why?” Sherlock's velvet baritone voice had turned into gravel in a blender, and it went straight to John's groin. 

“Because I want you to fuck me. I have been with a few woman before and it's just good practice.” His words stumbling out of his mouth as he was distracted. 

Sherlock's expression pained. “And my drug habit many years ago. Too many needles to feel safe putting you in that danger. No condoms in here.” 

“I'll be back.” John announced as he kissed Sherlock's forehead and rushed out of the room. He had placed Sherlock's dressing gown over his shoulders, and it came down way too long on him. He grabbed a condom and lube from his room and hurried back. Well, the best he could with a hard-on. He jumped back in bed to find Sherlock exactly how he had left him. 

“Eager?” Sherlock joked feeling under the material. He pulled the belt loose and it fell open. “This is our flat. You could have run around naked.” 

“And risk Mrs. Hudson seeing me? I don't think that would be wise.” He shrugged the dressing gown off and ripped open the condom packet. He had experience at putting condoms on but never on someone else. The desire to have Sherlock fuck him was overwhelming. It was Sherlock's first time so it only made sense. He wanted to make it something he would always remember. Still, it was John's first time in a way and a part of him did want to be on top so he had more control. Not that he didn't trust Sherlock. He just wasn't sure if he knew what to expect yet. He just knew that this desire to be owned by this man in this way was astounding. He never experienced anything like this before and he only trusted Sherlock to do it. 

John took to preparing himself. Wetting his hand with lube and massaging the immediate area. He took a deep breath and forced his body to relax. He smiled at Sherlock who was playing with himself as he watched. “That is very encouraging.” John commented. He worked the muscle until he felt loose enough, and comfortable. He straddled Sherlock adding some lube to the outside of the condom. “Is this okay?” 

Sherlock's hands felt along John's thighs. “God yes.” 

John lowered himself onto Sherlock's cock. Slowly. It was uncomfortable, but not too painful. John had a high tolerance. Once he had gotten past the rings of muscle, it was much easier. It felt interesting. Not as great as being the person doing the penetrating. That was his thought, at least, until he hit his prostate. His whole body shivered and he looked down at Sherlock. His eyes full of wonder and lust as they stared up at John. 

He moved back and forth. Gaining speed as he pushed Sherlock's dick into his prostate. It made his legs weak with ecstasy as it coursed through his entire body. He became harder with Sherlock beneath him unable to utter anything but his name. His nails dug into John's thighs. It felt like his whole body waved in pleasure. 

He let out a large groan as Sherlock took hold of his cock and started pumping him to the same rhythm. He struggled not to come too quickly. He didn't want to stop. His head dropped back involuntarily, but he immediately forced it back up. He didn't want to miss a moment of this. He wanted to see Sherlock's face through everything. 

Their bodies moved in sync. Groaning and swearing and passionately uttering the other’s names. 

“John, John, John. I can't last much longer.” Sherlock cried. 

He moved faster. As quickly as his body would allow. “Come for me, Sherlock. Please.” John begged. He wanted to see it. Wanted to feel it. 

Just as Sherlock squirted his load deep within John, John's cum sprayed out all across Sherlock's stomach and chest.

His body collapsed on Sherlock, his legs unable to hold himself up any longer. Passion taking every ounce of strength he had. He pulled the condom off Sherlock and tossed it in the bin on the other side of the room. 

Sherlock curiously took a finger and circled it threw the pools of cum on his stomach. He stuck his finger in his mouth and smiled at John. If John wasn't already pleasured to satisfaction that would be an incredible turn on. 

He could feel his cheeks flaming as he reached for a tissue and wiped the both of them off. “I'm so sorry.” Embarrassment racked through him. 

Sherlock kissed him as he laid down beside him. “Don't be. I liked it.” His long legs wrapped around John and held him tight. “God, that was amazing.” 

John delighted in the sensation of being enclosed by Sherlock. “Must have been if you are swearing oath to a deity.” He chuckled. “I don't think I've ever had sex that good.” John admitted. 

Sherlock let out a small sound of agreement as his breathing steadied. He was falling asleep. John smiled at his work proudly. He wore out the great Sherlock Holmes. Pleasured him into complacency. He kissed his lips lightly and glanced over Sherlock's shoulder. 6:45. He had 45 minutes before his one night was over. He should get up and let Sherlock sleep. 

Instead, he squeezed him tighter. It didn't have to be exactly until daylight hit, did it? What harm was falling asleep together? He was already comfortable in a bed. And there was the thing that he didn't want to admit to himself. He didn't want to leave Sherlock's side. God, this was going to be hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to the beautiful [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for wonderful beta work.


	26. Sherlock – 23 hours 29 minutes 32 seconds

Sherlock woke to the sound of the front door slamming shut. He jumped, nearly knocking his head against John's. Years of sleeping with one eye open, so to speak, made him sensitive to sudden sounds. His eyes searched the room trying to determine where he was and his eyes fell upon the clock. 10:31. They had slept passed their deadline. He shook John awake. “John. Someone is here.” He whispered low in his ear.

John squeezed him tighter. “I don't care. They can go away.” His voice still heavy with sleep. 

“John, who has a key?” 

He sighed, opening a single eye. “Mary.” 

They heard her call for John from the living room. 

“What do you want to do?” Sherlock asked, hurriedly. It wouldn't take long before she would start looking for him. 

John smothered his face in the pillow. “Get rid of her. She can't see me like this.” 

Sherlock was happy to do so. As he stood up, he felt a tight pinch on his arse. Startled, he glanced at John who was sporting a large grin. “Couldn't help myself.” Sherlock just slid on trousers and reached for the door. “Going out in just that? The poor girl doesn't know what she has coming to her. Especially with that hair.” John suggested, motioning to the dishevelled mop that had taken over his head. 

Sherlock smoothed his hair with his fingers as he opened the door. He left it cracked so John could hear and saw the young woman. She was pretty enough, by today's standards, but not pretty enough for John. “Hello.” He greeted warily. 

She seemed to startle and look at him appreciatively. “You must be Sherlock. John said you were staying. Have you seen him?” 

Sherlock stretched his arms. “No, sorry. I'm a bit wore out from recent experiences. I think he mentioned having to go to the clinic, but I can't be sure. Have you checked his room?” 

She nodded slowly. Great. Minor intelligence. John could do so much better. He may be biased, but John was a smart man. He deserved someone who wasn't so dull. “He isn't there.” 

“Well, it was great meeting you. If I see him, I'll be sure to make sure he gives you call. He probably got called into work. You know how he is. Can't say no when someone asks for a favour.” It was as nice as he could contemplate. 

Her hand felt for the door handle. She opened it and looked him over once again. “It was nice to meet you too.” 

He slid back into bed. John instinctively clutched for him and rested his head on Sherlock's chest. “Thank god, she is gone.” 

Sherlock's heart raced, but he tried to stifle it. He couldn't hope for what he wanted. “John our time is over. You have to go back to your life.”

John kissed along his jaw. “It isn't time until I say it is. Besides, I can think of something that is much more fun.” Sherlock could feel as John pressed his hardening cock against his trousers. 

He wrapped his arms around John and kissed him intensely. “And you said I played dirty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for working magic.


	27. John – 22 hours 9 minutes 56 seconds

John was absent-mindedly tracing circles onto Sherlock's porcelain chest when his mobile buzzed. Was there a time in his life when his phone was silent? Yes, after Sherlock and before Mary. He chased the torturous memories away. He pulled his mobile off the table beside Sherlock. 

_What would you say to lunch with Sherlock and me? - Mary_

He sighed. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to return to being that other John. The John who was supposed to be getting married. He flashed the text at Sherlock. 

“Are we going?” His voice drawing out his words in relaxation.

John shrugged. Of course he had to go. It was up to Sherlock whether or not he wanted to go. 

“Are you still getting married?” 

His blood rushed to his face as he became flustered. Why couldn't Sherlock just understand? “Of course I'm getting married. I don't have a choice. I've made a commitment and this was what I was always supposed to do.” 

Sherlock started getting agitated and looking more like his old self. “Forget what you're supposed to do. What do you want? Don't go through your life miserable because you are doing what you're “supposed” to do.” The quotation marks were almost visible on his lips. 

“I can't have what I want!” John's voice rose as he threw aside the blanket and leapt from the bed. “I have to go meet Mary for lunch. Are you wanting to come, or not?” 

Sherlock held his ground. Not moving. “Don't do this. Don't be the dutiful soldier. You don't always have to do what is expected of you.” 

“On second thought, don't come.” John walked up stairs, dressed and left. 

 

Mary was waiting outside the restaurant for him. It was her favourite place to go and Sherlock had never indicated he knew of the place. It appeared the best place to hide out.

He knew he shouldn't compare her to Sherlock. It wasn't right or fair but he did it anyway. She was a beautiful woman. What every man could dream of. But she wasn't what made Sherlock special. She was kind and understanding but ultimately boring. His life would never have the excitement or danger like it had before Sherlock disappeared. She was smart enough but wasn't overwhelmingly intelligent. She was gentle and caring, John tried to remind himself. 

He kissed her cheek upon seeing her. “Ready?” He asked, motioning towards the door. They quickly took their seats and ordered. 

“Just you then?” She questioned when they received their food.

He took a bite before answering. “Yes. I think that perhaps Sherlock didn't get my message. He is probably still asleep.” 

She watched him with wandering eyes. She hadn't commented on his sudden ability to walk again and she wouldn't. John couldn't help but wonder if she knew more than she said. It seemed obvious to everyone else who had seen the two of them. Even before anything was even thought of. 

“I met him today.” She commented proudly. 

“Oh yeah? I hope he wasn't too awful. He makes a horrible first impression. A genius, but no filter. He doesn't appear to care about anyone else's feelings, or at least doesn't know how to.” John mentally made a tally against him on the chart in his head. He wondered when he started pinning a score system against each of them. Was he really forcing himself to be angry?

She ate, but her eyes held John captive. Could she tell? Could she see that he had spent time, before his wedding, sleeping with another man. Twice. There was no evidence. John had checked himself fully in the mirror before leaving and, as he had earlier noted, she wasn't as observant as Sherlock. He may wince from pain when he moved the wrong way, but that could have been from a number of different circumstances. “He was...”, she searched for a word in her head “...charming.” 

“Charming? This is the same man I knew?” John thought back to his conversation and wondered what was charming about Sherlock? He was as pleasant as he had ever seen Sherlock, but he then recalled he went out without a shirt and disheveled hair. Ah. She was affected by Sherlock's looks. He wasn't sure if that realization made him feel better or uncomfortable.

“A bit awkward.” She admitted. 

John nodded. “That sounds about right.” 

After a few moments, Mary spoke again. “Wait, isn't that him?” She asked pointing to a tall slender man in a grey suit and white shirt. His dark hair barely curling over his ears. 

How did he know where they were? He had asked him not to come but he did anyway. Another thing against Sherlock: Always does what he wants regardless of others. “Yes, that would be him.” 

Sherlock made his way over to their table and grabbed an empty chair, spinning it around to sit down. “Hello again, Mary.” he said, flashing a fake smile. Anxiety flooded John's entire being. What was he here for? To ruin John's chances with Mary? He couldn't possibly be that selfish, could he? “Sorry I'm late. It was nice of you to invite me along. I know the two of you must have a lot to talk about.” 

“Not really. We have everything settled, finally. Just waiting for the big day.” Mary exclaimed bouncing a little with excitement. She was gazing at John with a large smile upon her face. John couldn't help wondering if she was happy about marrying him or if anyone would do? He knew that he was just trying to find an excuse to not go through with this marriage. He couldn't make up excuses in his head. It wasn't right.

John's eyes turned up to his best friend and found he was staring back. Pain was clouding every corner of his face. “Yeah, thanks for coming.” he said honestly. Sherlock didn't have to support John's decision to get married, but his presence spoke words he couldn't. Why did he automatically assume the worst about Sherlock? Everyone usually did, but he didn't want to be “everyone”.

Mary looked at Sherlock, questioningly. “Aren't you going to eat? Food here is great.” 

John prayed he didn't say something rude in response. John could think of four responses in his own head that would be very Sherlock-like. “I don't eat much and can't stay long. Just wanted to drop in and say hello.” 

“Well, you must come to John's stag party tonight. I'm sure he would love having you there.” She interjected, before he got the chance to leave.

John's brain went into red alert. She couldn't ask that of him. She didn't know why, but John would never ask him to come after last night. “Oh dear, I don't think Sherlock would want to do that. He is probably far too busy. He would be bored stiff.” 

Sherlock looked even more pained. Which part of that statement hurt him? “Yeah, you're right. I have a troubling number of things to talk about with Mycroft. I need the cases back before I become useless.” He stood up and left before anyone could say another word. 

“He isn't nearly as bad as you let on.” She commented as the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for her beta-ing genius.


	28. Sherlock – 9 hours 26 minutes 48 seconds

He spent the rest of the night laying in his bed, too bored and uncaring to do anything else, at his mother's house watching the ceiling fan spin around and around. 94,782 times on the medium setting before he received a phone call. Determined to wallow in depression, he initially ignored it. He didn't even want a case right now. On the fourth call, he picked it up for no other reason than to stop the aggravating ringing

“Hello.” He answered, pointedly. 

“Sherlock?” Lestrade's voice sounded gruff over the fuzzy connection. 

“Yes. Do you realise it is 12:34 in the morning?” 

“Yes, and you sound perfectly awake. It's John. He has overdone it a little. He drank too much too quickly.” 

Sherlock's heart raced. What had he done? Is he okay? It took his brain a moment to process that question before he could move his mouth to speak it. “Is he alright?” 

“He is fine, but he needs to be taken home. He won't let any of us move him. He comes at us fighting. I hate to ask, but I think you are the only one who can get him to bed.” 

Sherlock sighed. Poor John. John, who could drink anyone under the table, had drunk to the point of incoherence. Why? Wasn't getting married what he wanted? Surely it wasn't to have a good time. Lestrade sounded lucid enough. “Yes. I'll be there shortly. Don't leave him.” 

“We wouldn't do that. Don't you need to know where to go?” 

“Seriously, Lestrade?” 

As he rode through the streets of London, he took the time to relish in the fact that he could know where he was going. He couldn't shake the mental map of Budapest out of his mind. He tried deleting it several times only for it to pop back up later. The streets, the buildings, the loneliness, all only a second away at any moment. He didn't want to focus on that life anymore. That was behind him, and he was determined to keep it behind him.

If John was getting married, he really needed to get control of his brain again. “Drop me off here.” He motioned to the corner. He got out of the car, and handed the cabbie his money. 

Inside, he found John perched on a stool at a the bar clutching an empty beer bottle. He sat down beside him, removing his scarf. “How is it going?” he asked, as he spotted Lestrade and Mike sitting in a corner, keeping a watchful eye. 

John stared at the empty bottle. “Won't give me another one, and I refuse to move until I get more. They switched me to this weak shit. I am a paying customer. I want another drink.” He uttered loudly, the syllables slurring together. 

“Why don't we go home and you can tell me about it? We'll get you another drink there.” 

“You lie. You'll leave. You'll find another assistant and fall in love with them. Kick me out of Baker Street to live with my _wife_. I'll be bored and worn down and limping.” 

Sherlock didn't like what John was saying. Didn't want to hear him utter those words the night before he was getting married. He didn't want John to regret his decision. If he wasn't going to be with him, he wanted him to be happy, at least. John should always get what he wanted. It was what he deserved. “John, that isn't true.” He lowered his voice so others couldn't hear. “I'll never love anyone else, and I'll never kick you out of Baker Street. You can live there until you die. And you better die after me at a very old age. Now come on. Come home.” 

John allowed Sherlock to put his arm around him and help him stand. Sherlock threw a couple twenties at the bartender; a tip for dealing with John patiently. He got John out of the pub and into a cab. In the back seat, John leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder and had a death grip on his wrist. “Don't love anyone else.” he whispered. 

Sherlock just stared forward. He couldn't allow himself to be brought into John's actions. He was drunk, and Sherlock wasn't taking advantage. “I won't.” he said, honestly. “The moment you are married, I am going to work on deleting the feelings entirely.” 

John nuzzled closer. “Don't do that. I'll still love you.”

“No you won't. You'll love Mary.” 

John's voice had turned to a mumble. “I'll never love Mary. I only care for her because she helped me forget my grief over losing you.” 

Sherlock's heart soared a little. It didn't really - it would impossible for a stationary organ to soar - but that was certainly how it felt. He knew not to rely on a drunken rambling, but now John was being more honest than he had been since Sherlock had returned. Not only with Sherlock, but with himself. “Then why are you marrying her?” Sherlock questioned. He wasn't trying to sway his decision. That wouldn't be right, while he wasn't in his right frame of mind. He just couldn't resist asking.

John shrugged. “I thought it was right at the time. Before I knew you were alive. She would put up with me, and I wouldn't be alone. I really didn't want to be alone. Even now that you're back, I feel obligated to her.” 

Sherlock opened the door, holding his tongue. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't going to talk him out of it while he was drunk. It wasn't fair. He kept reminding him that it was John. John was worth it. He pulled him out of the cab behind him, and took him up to the flat. “Let's get you to bed.” Sherlock suggested, as he tried to pull him up the stairs. 

“No. Your bed.” He said determinedly as he planted his feet firm against the floor. He was too strong for Sherlock to fight, even while drunk.

He gave in and took John to his bed. He plopped down on top of the covers with his clothes still fully on. Sherlock went about removing his shoes, and straightening him in the bed so he wouldn't smother himself with the pillow. He began to walk out to find something to occupy his time in the kitchen. He couldn't leave him in case something happened.

“No. Wait. Come here.” John requested. 

Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed. “Yes?” 

John pulled him down until he was laying in front of him with John's arms wrapped tightly around him. “Please don't go.” he begged. “Just spend tonight with me.” 

Sherlock tried to fight the grip, but it was useless. “It's not good idea, John. We've already had our night.” Before he had finished speaking, John had fallen asleep. Any attempt to escape just put Sherlock tighter in his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, eternal gratitude to my wonderful beta [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) .


	29. John – 2 hours 8 minutes 56 seconds

Light. Bright. Ow.

Head. Splitting. Ow. 

Warmth. Sherlock. Delight. 

John struggled to regain consciousness. Sherlock was wrapped tightly in his arms, still asleep. He watched as he appeared peaceful. A rarity for Sherlock. Finally able to gain enough repose to stop the ever-turning cogs in his mind. He glanced at the clock. Almost eight. Great. Wedding soon. John just couldn't help but marvel at his brain's response time this morning. His head felt like it had been jackhammered on all night. 

Wedding. 

Wedding. 

Wedding. 

Forcing himself to get up, he slipped on his shoes. He leaned over to kiss Sherlock's forehead, and went to his room. He changed into fresh clothes and walked downstairs. He left a note on the kitchen table. 

_Sherlock,_

_I'll always love you. This is just something I have to do._

_John._

 

John had never been a religious person, but he didn't see the point in fighting with Mary on this. She wanted a church. A large church. A large wedding. 

He had to get there before Mary. Seeing the bride and whatnot. He ran into Mike, as soon as he walked through the doors. “Ready man?” Mike clapped him on his back. 

He tried to smile confidently. This was the right thing to do. It was. 

“Good Luck.” Mike said, as he walked into a makeshift dressing room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would never be able to do his without [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) and her amazing edits.


	30. Sherlock – 1 hours 25 minutes 4 seconds

His eyes shot open. 

John!

He felt the bed beside him. It was empty. 

Falling asleep had never been his intention. John just seemed to have the ability to relax him. 

He rolled over in his wrinkled clothing. Still fully dressed. He tumbled over the side of the bed and stood up. 

He frantically ran through the flat looking for John. 

He was gone. 

Gone. Gone to get married. 

He stumbled across the note on the kitchen table and collapsed against it. 

He had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, much love to the beta genius, [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands).


	31. John – 0 hours 37 minutes 29 seconds

John sat on a chair, staring up at the suit he had to put on. He wasn't a suit guy. He was a cardigan/jumper guy. 

Today, he was gaining a wife. A woman to love and care for him. Another human being to account for and be accountable to. Someone to cure loneliness. A conversation partner. Today, he was gaining a limp. 

Today, he was losing a best friend, again. A man who loved him and cared about him. A partner in every sense of the word. Intelligent conversation. Excitement and danger. Someone who drove him crazy and pissed him off, but made him love him anyway. Today, he was losing someone to love. 

Would he grieve like he did the first time he lost Sherlock, or would it be easier knowing he was out in the world somewhere? Would Mary still be enough to cure the nightmares? What would they be this time? The visual of Sherlock smacking the pavement from the top of St. Bart's, or the painful look in Sherlock's eyes as he deletes his feelings for John? The thought was crippling. He was wasted last night, but not so drunk he couldn't remember what happened. 

Was this worth it? Being loyal. Not breaking Mary's heart. Not losing the money on the wedding. 

He felt sick to his stomach. This wasn't pre-wedding jitters. He couldn't think about what he was doing. He just had to do it. He went to knock on the door to Mary's room. 

A bridesmaid poked her head out. “Yes?” 

“Can I talk to Mary?” 

She looked at him, incredulously. “You can't see the bride before the wedding.” She did a once over, but didn't mention his attire, hoping not to alarm Mary. 

“Just give me a minute. I need to talk to her. I won't look. I'll stand right here behind the door.” 

She nodded and motioned inward. She exited, followed by the rest of the party. 

“Yes?” Mary's voice drifted from the other side. The door was cracked, but he turned his back.

John's blood screamed through his veins. He gazed down the hall to assure no one would be around to see. “Mary.” he started, but his voice stuck in his throat. 

He could hear as she placed a hand on the wall. “Yes?” she repeated. 

“You know I care about you, and you mean so much to me.” He wanted to finish his sentence but he felt weak. He wanted to sit down. 

“But?” she prompted. Her voice sad. 

John ran his hands through his hair. “I'm just not sure I can go through with this.” 

He thought that she would cry. Collapse. Scream at him. Come out and hit him. Something. He didn't expect what she said next. “I know.” 

“You know?” he asked, in utter confusion. He kept his back to the door. He didn't want her to see him this way. 

He felt a hand reach out from behind the door and he held it. The door stuck between both of their backs. “I'm not blind. I may not be as smart as he is, but I'm not stupid. I've barely seen you since he came back. Not that it was a surprise. Your best friend returning from the dead. That is very spectacular. I expected your wanting to see him, but you've not been around and we're getting married. Then we had lunch yesterday. I saw the way you looked at him. You never looked at me like that. He was the same. So possessive in the way that he leaned towards you.” 

It almost seemed like a relief. He felt light. No worries. No crushing weight. “Then why marry me?” He knew he still would if she demanded it, but at least she would know now. 

There was a pause. “I cared about you. I loved you, and thought that, in time, you would love me too. I doubted it, but hoped so.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

She squeezed his hand. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for sticking with me through all the editing needed.


	32. Sherlock – 0 hours 16 minutes 38 seconds

He wasn't sure what he was doing. Sherlock, who was sure about everything, couldn't explain his own actions. He didn't want to John get married. He shouldn't be heading in the direction of the church. The cab stopped in front of the doors. Should he go in? Watch John walk down the aisle and marry someone else. Was he really craving closure, or simply hoping his presence would change John's mind?

He couldn't take it. Wouldn't do it. He spun quickly, closing his eyes, resolving to walk in whichever direction he stopped. Unfortunately nothing was random. He knew every street in London, and he knew he was heading South. 

He shouldn't waste any more time. He needed to start deleting his feelings since it was ridiculous to keep on hoping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for never letting an awkward phrase escape her reach.


	33. John – 0 hours 0 minutes 0 seconds

Aisles. Wedding. Dresses. People. They all seemed so far away. John had wanted to tell their guests together. Apologize that they had come all this way, but it was just not the right time in his life. Mary wouldn't let him. She spared him the embarrassment, and for that he was grateful. He was grateful for her; and her consideration. 

He snuck past people, and headed out the doors. Careful not to draw any attention to himself. He was sure he would have many calls from his relatives demanding an explanation, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he just wanted one thing.

The doors opened, and there he was; leaning against the same tree he suspected him of hiding behind a few days ago. Was it really only a matter of days since he had believed him to be dead? His heart told him to run, but he had enough sense to walk. His arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck when he was within reach. His eyes seemed to be alive and dancing with happiness, but he didn't let his face express any feeling. It didn't matter. John could read Sherlock better than anyone. “You always surprise me, Sherlock Holmes.” 

He sighed. “As do you, John Watson.” He leaned down to peck a kiss on John's lips. “I imagine we should get out of here before they start leaving. I'm sure they won't want to stay long.” 

“Oh, I don't know. The catering is all paid for. Why not get a free meal for coming all this way?” 

“Does this mean that you're coming home with me?” Sherlock teased and tugged on John's jacket. 

The doctor shrugged. “I don't know. I'll think about it. I just decided that ruining a wedding would be a good laugh. We'll see what I think of next.” 

“Come on. I know a good way to sneak out of here.” 

Of course he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the brilliant beta [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for accomplishing wonderful tasks.


	34. Sherlock – 2 hours 10 minutes 18 seconds after the Big Event

Maybe the big event wasn't John's marriage to Mary. Maybe it was John choosing him. All this time Sherlock was counting down to John's wedding and his alienation from him, but John always could surprise him. Leave it to him to wait until the very last moment. 

Sherlock rested his head on John's chest. His warm skin caressed his cheek as he exhaled. “Are you regretting that you're not about to ride off into the sunset on your honeymoon?” he inquired, utilizing the cliché. 

John kissed the top of Sherlock's head. “Not a bit. I'd much rather stay home and shag you senseless any day.” 

“Oh god, we're not going to become one of those invalid couples who do nothing and don't go anywhere, are we?” Sherlock joked. 

“God no.” Sherlock watched as blood rushed to John's cheeks. “You think we're a couple?” 

Sherlock leaned up on his elbows looking down at John. He may always be confused about social norms, but this seemed fairly straight forward. “You left your wedding for me. We've had sex three times in 48 hours. A complicated 48 hours. We live together. Admitted we loved each other. Seems like a couple to me, or have I got it wrong again?” 

“You don't have it wrong.” John turned his face down. “Do I introduce you as my boyfriend?” 

“Oh John, we're not sixteen year old girls writing love letters in our diaries. Partner: I believe that would be the respectable term.” Sherlock explained as his hand grazed up and down John's stomach. 

John's fingers twirled in Sherlock's curls. “When are you going to get started on cases again?” 

“Soon. As soon as they come in. I'm sure Lestrade has something for me. I imagine you'll come along with me.” 

“Of course. You don't think that I'm going to let you go alone? We've been too far apart for far too long.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to [somanyhands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands) for sticking with me to the very end. This story would be very different without her expert assistance.


End file.
